Leave No One Behind: Daily Meditations for Military Service Members and Veterans in Recovery

JANUARY

• JANUARY 1 •

Stigma

There is a massive stigma for those of us who continued drinking in civilian life the way we did in the service.

People think, There’s that old drunk again. Now he’s in jail; let’s dry him up. He’s not much good. He may have been, but he’s no good for anything now. All those nice ribbons represented something, but he’s nothing anymore. They just laugh at you. That’s all you are: a joke. That’s hard to live with. Yeah.

But we drinkers just think, If only I had someone to watch my back again.

The thing is, we just need someone who understands—who can share our experience as someone who is a veteran and who has experienced addiction. When we start to connect with each other, the stigma dissolves, and we realize we are not unique. That means we can do this thing—if we stick together.

Today I’ll reject the stigma of recovery and remember that I can do this if I stick with others.

—Dan N., U.S. Army, 1971–1977

• JANUARY 2 •

A Fellowship of Suffering

One of the things I like about AA is that they are people who have been marginalized. I get that.

It’s a fellowship of suffering. I get that. If you hang in together, you have a chance to get through this thing.

Soldiers fight not for the hatred of the enemy in front of them, but for the love of the men behind them. Medals awarded almost always include caring for others while at peril for their own safety.

It’s the same thing with recovery.

I will fight just as hard for myself as for the suffering person beside me. I will leave no one behind.

—Don E., U.S. Army, 1967–1970

• JANUARY 3 •

Alcoholism and Separating from the Air Force

When I separated from the Air Force, I was drinking heavily. It was difficult to transition back to civilian life after being in the military. It’s such a difficult transition that you can’t prepare for this change. All of a sudden, you’re a civilian again. The camaraderie you had in the Air Force, the community and all the resources, are suddenly gone, and you’re just home. Instead of that community, now you’re back with people who don’t understand what you went through while you were in the Air Force—especially your spouse. I had a lot of inner conflict with this. On top of that, I was trying to reconnect with my children. I felt like I had lost a few years with them, and it felt bad.

To be honest, I was just lost. I drank to manage that level of stress and isolation. The isolation fueled my alcoholism. I didn’t know how to make this transition on my own. But eventually, I got help.

I got help by connecting with others in recovery. They helped me feel like there were other ways to cope with transitions in life—that I’m not alone.

Today I will connect with others when I feel stressed or isolated.

—Anonymous, U.S. Air Force, 1997–2000

• JANUARY 4 •

You Owe It to Yourself

You have done what countless millions have not or would not do. Under the direst of conditions, you have proven that you have what it takes to complete the mission. And now, as you continue the process, remember to include yourself. First and foremost, include yourself.

As your journey continues, put yourself up front. Give reality to the ghosts of your past. Once that’s done, stop trying to alter your past. Don’t regret your past, but don’t shut the door on it. It is what it is. It should be a life lesson, not a life sentence. Manifest your best future. An infinite amount of possible futures wait for you to decide which one will be reality for you. Only you can decide which one.

Just for today, for this moment, at this time, I will put myself first.

—Ed C., U.S. Army, 1975–1979

• JANUARY 5 •

Willing to Do ANYTHING to Support My Recovery

When I was using, I became willing to do anything to get the next one. I spent years of my life trying to kill myself for things I had already survived. Trauma had become my master. Getting high was my only coping skill, and even that had lost its effect. I will never forget when the therapist from the VA asked me if I was willing to try and get help. I was scared, but I had nothing left to lose. I had just enough willingness to take her advice and get some help. When I saw my life starting to slowly get better, there was a turning point. I became willing to do whatever it took to become the person I was meant be.

Before the trauma and before the drugs, I always felt I was meant to do something great. Now that I have put some time together, I see the value in practicing recovery principles in every area of my life. When I became willing, I started down my path to greatness.

Today I will allow the seed of willingness to take root in my life. For my recovery to blossom, I must practice recovery principles in every area of my life.

—Emil C., U.S. Navy, 1995–1997

• JANUARY 6 •

Culture Change / Change of Culture

There was a no-alcohol rule in Iraq. I thought, I’m twenty. I’m in the military. I’m in a combat zone. Why can’t I drink? But buying into everything my supervisors said, I mentally and physically went with the flow and culture around me. I embraced my work and didn’t deal with anything. I pushed my issues off to the side and stayed committed to the mission.

Then I returned home. It wasn’t a combat situation, and alcohol was everywhere. I was left with myself to deal with what and how I wanted.

After my last big drinking binge, I reached out for help and discovered a different way of life—a different culture with the same rule: no alcohol.

Today recovery is an extension of my personal culture and commitment.

—Anonymous, U.S. Army, 2005–2009

• JANUARY 7 •

Rebuilding Bridges

It’s taken me a long time to build up the bridges that I burned and to find my way back. I’m still learning. I have a hard time talking about it, because I’m not used to sharing this kind of stuff with others, particularly people who haven’t been through it. But I know that this stuff is poison, and I need to tell my story. Somebody needs to hear this.

When I decided that I was ready to get this shit out of me, the first doctor I talked to was a resident. I started talking and her eyes looked so big and she looked like a deer in the headlights. Then she stopped me in the middle of my sentence and said, I think we need somebody that’s a little more qualified to handle this to talk to you. She didn’t react that way out of malice. I’ve been through some serious shit, and it’s heavy. I understand what she was trying to do, that she was trying to do the right thing, but what that response did in my mind was prove to me that I am the monster that I believed myself to be.

So I just clammed up, because it’s hard to explain my experience to somebody that’s never been through any of it. I didn’t talk about it again until a few years back. Now I know that keeping the poison bottled up twisted how I saw myself.

I will find people who understand where I’ve been… and I will be that person for someone else.

—Bradley L., U.S. Army, 2005–2010

• JANUARY 8 •

Scars Heal

My friend and I were at an all-night eating establishment, and I got hammered. After I said some off-color remarks to somebody who yelled at my friend, I got jumped. They picked me up and put my face directly on the ground. I was charged with drunk and disorderly, and spent the night in jail.

Just over a week later, I fell asleep in my car in front of a gas station—the car was still running. I got a DUI.

Really, I should’ve gotten plenty more. Later, I wrecked a car. Things started to pile up; relationships changed. Friends went away.

In the past, I had backed out of an enlistment, so I decided to talk to those fine people at the Navy recruiting office again. I had my degree and wanted to explore options for getting an officer commission. I was told it would take a couple months to get me in. I knew that in another couple of months, I was going to get in a hell of a lot more trouble. So, I enlisted. Boot camp was amazing. It took the liquor away and put a little rigor in my life.

Over thirteen years later, I’m a sober naval officer with a small, visible reminder of my life before—a scar on my forehead from the night my face was on the ground.

May our scars serve as visible reminders of our journey in recovery.

—Matthew S., U.S. Navy, 2006–Currently Serving

• JANUARY 9 •

Remove the Mask

I was the poster child for the Army. In life in general, I always gave 100 percent effort. I never drank during the week. On the weekend, I let loose. I lived for the weekend. Monday came, and I would shake the cobwebs off and do morning PT.

I was very good at masking my life. If you were to look at me, there’s no way you’d believe this guy had issues. I was a performer, an overachiever. But don’t be fooled. I lied a lot. I lied, in my mind, for good reasons. I didn’t want to disappoint. I wasn’t trying to hurt people with my lies. My performance was a cover-up for ongoing issues.

As I walk my new journey in sobriety, I am learning I no longer have to perform.

In recovery, I can present myself to the world without hesitation, hindrance, or regret.

—Kory W., Canadian Armed Forces, 2009–2015

• JANUARY 10 •

Community in the Army and in Recovery

I joined the Army when I was seventeen years old. My first duty station was Berlin. If you ever think about what a POW camp looks like, that was Berlin, because we were surrounded by a wall and about 200,000 East German soldiers.

The bonds that I had with the people in my platoon were a huge part of my active-duty experience. These are the guys that you bled with, you sweated with, you trained with. You entrusted your life to these guys.

When I left active duty, I came back to the States and went to college. I immediately felt out of place. I was surrounded by other students who hadn’t been deployed. I felt lost. I started drinking to try to feel normal.

But in recovery, I have found that solidarity again. The bonds that I have with my veteran community are amazing. We can talk about our time in the military and our time on the streets, because we’ve had the same experiences. It’s almost like a family. These people are a key component of my recovery.

Today I will seek out connection, because it is the opposite of addiction.

—JR W., U.S. Army, 1987–1995

• JANUARY 11 •

Leave No One Behind

In the military, you hear, Leave no one behind. But the reality is, we get left behind all the time. Especially women.

I was left behind. I was left behind by poor leadership. I was left behind by female NCOs, and I was left behind by my command. I think this plays a huge role in how women feel when they get out of the military.

Even as an employee of the VA now, I’ve often closed myself off to female veterans, so I’ve had to work really hard to open myself up and connect with them. Now that I have, I’ve made some incredible relationships. The women are amazing. I wasn’t taught that as a woman in the military, so I know it’s hard for women vets to get support. But there are so many resources out there for women who are having difficulty getting back in the world.

Since I opened myself up to women veterans—especially the older ones—I’ve learned so much and gotten so much compassion in return.

Today I am committed to leaving no woman veteran behind. Today I will offer a helping hand, a listening ear, compassion, and support.

—Berlynn F., U.S. Marine Corps, 2009–2011

• JANUARY 12 •

I Didn’t Trust Myself

When I was drinking, I didn’t trust anyone. But what I’ve learned is, the root of that distrust was my lack of trust in myself.

I didn’t trust anybody, because I didn’t trust myself. I couldn’t trust myself to stay sober, and I couldn’t trust myself to stay out of trouble. Essentially, my life was unmanageable, so I wasn’t about to trust somebody else!

But once I got into the veteran program and met these other veterans and developed a sense of trust and loyalty with them… that really helped me come to terms with what trust means and reminded me of the lack of trust I was dealing with in myself.

On this day, I will think about trust and the importance of a sobriety circle.

—Mike D., U.S. Marine Corps, 1970–1974

• JANUARY 13 •

Putting Pen to Paper

There are very few material things I need in this world, but I cannot be without pen and paper.

I speak only in meetings, so writing has always been a gateway for me to learn how to communicate my thoughts and feelings. It’s been an integral part of my sobriety. I have journals from fourteen years ago that I still hold on to. They chart my evolution.

For me, writing is a form of meditation and prayer. Sometimes I write Dear God letters, and just go on and on. There are times I’ve even cussed God out—like, What the fuck is going on, God? That’s the type of relationship I have with him.

If I’m feeling jacked up or off or something is bothering me, it’s a sign I need to put pen to paper. It’s a way of getting it all out. I pour everything inside me onto the page. It’s like the feeling I have after I take a bubble bath; all those emotions go down the drain.

Today I will chart my course by putting pen to paper, using writing as release. I’ll use writing as a prayer.

—Elora K., U.S. Navy, 1997–2007

• JANUARY 14 •

New Routine

I think we all still have a little manipulation left in us, no matter where we’re at in sobriety. The Navy highly recommended I attend meetings, and I had to go get that stupid paper signed. I picked the treatment center director’s wife to be my sponsor, because I thought it would look good on my record. They would be at the meetings, but I didn’t know they didn’t keep a record of my attendance. I honestly thought there was some chart or whatever.

Well, the thing is, they adopted me and treated me like a daughter. My first sponsor even coached me through labor with my oldest son. We developed such a close bond that, as the years went by, people new to the area thought my sponsor and her husband were my parents.

They spoiled me. They fed me. They picked me up and we’d go to their miniature farm. They’d have barbecues, meetings, and Easter egg hunts there. I told myself, Let’s just try this on for size, because what’s happening now is way better than what was happening. I can deal with this.

As I travel the road of recovery, I willingly welcome new people and new horizons into my life.

—Mary H., U.S. Navy, 1984–2004

• JANUARY 15 •

Becoming Myself

Long-distance running used to be my first drug of choice, until drinking took over. I started drinking before basic, but I really drank a lot when I was stationed in Germany, because Germany was all about drinking.

I grew up with an alcoholic father who was constantly getting admitted to the hospital and psych units. I didn’t want my drinking to progress to that point. I knew if I didn’t get sober, I was gonna die. I had tried to stop drinking. I went to Al-Anon, but I never worked the Steps. I’d get drunk, and they said maybe I needed a different program. I tried therapy, but the therapist said she couldn’t help me until I stopped drinking.

I didn’t get sober until after active duty, when I joined the National Guard. There was a girl in my Guard unit who helped me find some AA meetings. I started going to meetings all the time.

I had friends in my Guard unit who didn’t even realize I had a problem, because they were so used to seeing me drinking all the time. When I got sober, they were like, Holy Moly, you’re totally different!

Today I am grateful that recovery has allowed me to become who I was meant to be.

—Deb L., U.S. Army, 1981–1996

• JANUARY 16 •

High Expectations

I thought I could erase what happened in the past.

I had really built myself up for this career as a Navy man, because it was a family thing. It’s what I wanted to do, but more importantly, it’s what I thought would make my father and my family happy. I spent a lot of time preparing for the Navy, including ROTC. Seventeen years old and a signed waiver was all I needed for a new beginning and permission to conquer the world.

In my mind, joining the Navy just like my father and grandfather was a rite of passage. I had high expectations of what life was going to be like when I got into the military. All those expectations came crashing down when I was sexually assaulted in boot camp. I want to say it strengthened me or made me a better or a more resilient person, but it didn’t. I struggled to maintain sobriety after the assault and trauma. I spent a lot of time just trying to erase what happened to me.

Many years later, I decided to reconcile my past with the military and get some help for the military sexual trauma using EMDR therapy. Having my trauma acknowledged didn’t erase it, but it helped me develop an identity for myself. I know who I am today.

The impact of trauma can be subtle, insidious, and even outright destructive. True acknowledgment is necessary for my healing to begin.

—Emil C., U.S. Navy, 1995–1997

• JANUARY 17 •

Hitting Bottom

I was a heavy drug and alcohol user before I went into the Navy. I wasn’t allowed to use drugs in the service, but I drank all the harder in the military. For my first duty, I was stationed on a minesweeper in Bahrain for about a year. I went out and drank whenever I could. When I came back stateside, I did more of the same.

After I got out of the military, I added drugs back into the mix. It wasn’t until last year that I really started to work on recovery. I had an episode where I was committed to the psychiatric ward at the local VA hospital, and that was due to heavy drug and alcohol use. After that, I’ve been in group meetings. Through the VA and weekly therapy, I’ve been trying to get through drug and alcohol issues. Now I am in recovery trying to live a better life.

I will say that going through that terrible hospital episode has helped me pursue sobriety. Sometimes hitting bottom can bring on the change that’s needed to make different choices.

Hitting bottom is painful, but today I will remember that it can motivate us to make a change.

—John K., U.S. Navy, 2005–2009

• JANUARY 18 •

How the Military Helps with Tools of Sobriety

I got sober before I joined the military. I’d already been doing recovery work for seven years by the time I joined.

In basic training, they’re going to get your ass out of bed at four o’clock, they’re going to make sure that your uniform is spit-and-polish, and they’re going to make sure that you know where to go and what time in what uniform.

Really all that is doing is just preparing somebody for life. Those are just simple life lessons that you’re going to carry with you: suit up and show up, be punctual, and be there in the right uniform.

These are important lessons in the military. But they’re also important lessons in life that new recruits probably don’t know and aren’t motivated to learn. So the military puts all these kinds of external motivations to do that.

In a lot of ways, I already had that external motivation from my time in recovery. I knew that in order to stay sober, there were things that I had to do and things I had to avoid. The military reinforced those lessons for me.

Today I will use the tools of sobriety. I will suit up and show up and keep my obligations.

—J. D., U.S. Army, 1985–1993/1998–2018

• JANUARY 19 •

Addiction Is Cunning, Baffling, and Powerful

I never said no to anything in the service, but alcohol was my primary drug of choice. I got deployed to Afghanistan in 2002. That’s when my serious drinking started.

When we got there, there was nothing—no running water, no electricity—same conditions as in a combat zone. But there was still booze. It’s really hot in the Middle East, so we worked at night and slept during the day. That was a hard adjustment for many of us, so we started sneaking alcohol in. A